


Sunset

by OverthinkingFeathers



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Hawke's gender isn't specified, Very brief mention of Carver and Aveline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverthinkingFeathers/pseuds/OverthinkingFeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke keeps privately comparing Anders to celestial bodies. Hawke is a sap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> There's a very brief mention of the potential character death at the end of DA2. 
> 
> Slightly rewritten from an earlier posting. Still not proofread or edited because I'm terrible. But hey, the third sentence is better!

His hair is the color of sunset. 

It's probably not the right first thought to have. The man standing in front of them has blood flecked on his sleeves and a heavy staff in his hands. He looks exhausted and drained, but there's a wariness behind his eyes, and he's clearly ready to defend his dozen or so patients. Some of them, Hawke notices, look like they could handle themselves. The others have realized this as well; Carver is inching towards his sword, Aveline's eyes have turned to stone, and this healer, this Warden, is the only thing currently between them and an all out brawl. If it goes wrong, it's going to do so very quickly. Something needs to be done. 

But the lantern's light is gleaming golden in his hair, and Hawke is thinking in poetry. 

——————————————————————–

The blue fire under his skin should change something, but it doesn’t. Sunsets aren’t blue, and their fire isn’t cool to the touch, but somehow it still feels like the right word. He hums with magic, and Hawke wonders if that's what sunsets sound like up close. 

——————————————————————–

Years later, drowsing in warm arms, Hawke reconsiders. Sunsets represent endings, flames brightening then vanishing. They’re beautiful, yes, but they leave no lasting effects. People forget. What good is a spectacle if things don’t change? 

Anders is more a harvest moon, bringing light in even the darkest times. Rare but necessary, loved by those in need. With that light, the lost can find their way; the monsters can’t hide in the dark. They aren’t gone, but they can be seen, and they can be fought. The monsters around Kirkwall had grown too much in the dark. They thought they were untouchable, but he was changing that. 

He exposes everything, and they can’t cover him up. 

———————————————————————-

In the red glow of the Chantry explosion, Hawke thinks maybe sunset was right after all. Fire bursting and fading away. 

——————————————————————– 

It’s not until after Divine Victoria declares the mages free that Hawke realizes both descriptions are wrong. Or maybe not wrong so much as shortsighted. 

His hair is the color of sunrise, and the blue under his skin is the sky on which all things are born. 

His fire now is not the last remnants of a dying day but the beginning of a new one. He will be among the last to lose his childhood for the sin of having magic. He will be among the last to even be taught that magic is a sin. The Templars aren’t there to harass them; the Circle isn’t there to imprison them. The old ways are truly dead. 

And in those interim years, the years between merging with the sky and new beginnings, he was the light to those in need. He brought them hope in midnight escapes, in hidden refuges, in paths they didn't know existed. He exposed the monsters in his manifestos, his accounts of wrongdoing to anyone who would listen. They couldn’t stop him, couldn’t block him out. But even a full moon can’t completely vanquish the darkness, and he was never going to be content with sharing the world with monsters. 

It took fire to end an era. He could have gone with it, fire extinguished under a rubble filled sky or fading away later in hiding. But he didn’t, and now he sits in the dirt, smile easier than ever, showing off wisps to the nearby village’s children, and Hawke knows he looks like hope.


End file.
